


Prejudice and Ignorance [DISCONTINUED]

by TheMadThing



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adult John Watson, Adult Sherlock, Future AU, Johnlock - Freeform, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, M/M, Then, sort of distopian future, until they grow up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3095726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadThing/pseuds/TheMadThing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a future world where technology is controlled by implants, technopaths are born with the ability to control technology with their minds. Feared and hated they are shut in camps, with no access to the outside world. Sherlock is a technopath, shut away since he was two, and John is a medic with connections to a society that calls for 'the Solution', the eradication of all technopaths. But when they meet they discover a connection, despite their opposing stances. With revolution looming can differences be put aside to work for survival?<br/>[DISCONTINUED]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I can't go on like this anymore

**Author's Note:**

> I've written the first ten chapters of this on a different site so I'm going to post them now and the rest will be once every week or two, depending on how much time I have what with homework and everything.

Everyone agreed that the first system didn't work. Everyone agreed that stronger measures were needed. Everyone agreed that the Technopaths were a danger to society. Everyone agreed that children should be taken away, to protect everyone from their powers. Everyone agreed that reintroducing those Technopath children back into society as adults would be traumatising for them. Everyone agreed they were better off away from normal people. So, on the first of September, 2579, everyone voted for the second system. Technopaths would be taken away from their parents, as soon as they were IDd, usually aged 2 or 3. They would be put into camps. Aged 11 they would move to single gender camps, and aged 18 they would move to adult camps, where they would stay until they died of old age. It was simple, effective and humane. Theoretically.


	2. Never Coming Home

_December 4th 2590_

_Technopaths are evil. They are dangerous. They are evil. Dangerous. Evil. Dangerous. Evil. Dangerous. Evil. Dangerous. Me._

 

Sherlock Holmes head was buzzing with thoughts, worry and fear. All his life, since he was old enough to understand he had been told repeatedly that technopaths were evil, and dangerous, and that was why they were taken away to camps. But now, on the eve of his third birthday, he had discovered, he was a technopath. And worse, his teacher had seen. She knew what he was. There was no escape. Sat in the head teacher’s office as the teacher explained to the head teacher what had happened.

 

“I was just teaching as normal, and suddenly he just stood up, and everything with a computer in the room just exploded! Everything! Exploded!” she was getting hysterical now. Actually, Sherlock had simply turned off the digi-board used for teaching; the rest of the damage had been done by scared students throwing things around, at the people they had decided in their heads had done it. Unfortunately, everyone now believed it had been Sherlock. He hadn’t even stood up. He was just the only pupil who didn’t go crazy accusing people of being a technopath.

 

“Calm down Miss Xav, the authorities are on their way to collect him and his parents have been notified. They decided not to come to say goodbye, to avoid unnecessary trauma that might make the transition to camp difficult.” Sherlock understood what he didn’t say. They didn’t want to see their technopath son. Nobody wanted to remember a technopath child. Technopaths were despised and hated everywhere. The ‘authorities’ that were on their way were known as the techo-pols, a combination of technopath and police, the old-fashoned word for law enforcement authorities. Officially they were known as the TRA, technopath resettlement authorities.

 

 

A lot had changed since 2579. Back then the camps had been built with technopath comfort and safety as a high priority. The fences were just chain link fences, and guards carried stun guns to stop any fights. But outside the camps attitudes were changing. People began to exaggerate the powers of technopaths, making them seem mystical and dangerous. In fact, an untrained technopath could do no more than turn things on and off, but people began to think that they could hack bank accounts and secure websites. So, the camps began to reflect attitudes. The stun guns became used to punish camp internees for minor misdemeanours, the fences were topped with barbed wire, and the previously friendly relationship between guards and internees became tense and hate-filled. The single gender camps became double gender. Technopath on technopath violence in camps became common place, ignored or encouraged by guards. Guard on technopath violence became daily and accepted. Technopaths were dying by the hundreds in camps, even the 2-18 camps, created out of the original 2-11 and 11-18 camps, had children dying in hundred every year, and rarely from technopath on technopath violence. Nobody knew about how bad thing had got, and nobody cared to find out either.

 

 

When the TRA arrived at the school the secretary escorted them to the head teacher’s office. They took Sherlock, one on each arm and dragged him to the secure van they drove, not even giving him a chance to walk on his own. They threw him into the back of the van, locked the door, and drove off, heading to the nearest camp.

 

 

In the back of the van Sherlock was confronted by two identical twin boys about his age, dressed identically, and a much older girl, maybe around fourteen. Sherlock’s mind was in so much turmoil that he didn’t even deduce anything about them.

 

“Hi,” said the girl, “I’m Xana, and the twins are Toz and Bez. What’s your name?”

 

“Sherlock,” he said, confused by their friendliness.

 

“Hi,” said the twins, in eerie synchronisation. Sherlock looked at them, and his mind began to work properly again. _Twins, sent off by parents, not parents that phoned in though,two dogs and a cat, and a bird_

 

_Runaway, possibly ran when her power became apparent, good at survival, clothes stolen, likes heavy metal music, good fighter._

 

“So, who turned you in?” asked one of the twins.

 

“Teacher.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“I turned the digi-board off. She told the head teacher I exploded everything though.”

 

“We kept turning the teli-com on at home, drove mum crazy, until our dad saw once and called the TRA.”

 

“What about you?” Sherlock asked Xana.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she replied quietly. Toz (or was it Bez?) rolled his eyes, but neither of them pressed the question. There was an awkward silence for a while, until Xana broke it, saying,

 

“We’re heading to the most secure camp there is. You’d better be prepared.”

 

“How do you know?” asked Sherlock.

 

“I’ve escaped from two others, there’s only one place they’d send me now.” Bez whistled.

 

“How the hell did you escape from camp? No one escapes from camp. Ever. Which camps? And how did you do it?”

 

“I escaped from camp Omega and camp Beta. Every camp has its weak spots.”

 

“Then we must be going to Alpha,” said Sherlock, “Alpha doesn’t have weak spots.” Xana shrugged and refused to give any more details on the subject. They sat in silence until they arrived at camp Alpha a few minutes later.

 

 

The van slowed then stopped for a moment, before rolling a few metres forwards and stopping again.

 

“Two fences,” explained Xana, “Outer fence has guard towers every 5 metres, no technology is allowed within the outer fence, no guards are allowed to enter the inner fence. We’d better get out of here now.” They followed her advice and opened the doors of the van, which had been unlocked while she had been talking. The scene that greeted them when they opened the doors was dismal. Corrugated iron huts were dotted around the large space and children dressed in clothes that looked like the clothes they’d been retrieved in were wandering around, clearly with nothing to do, and not enough to eat. Everything was grey, even the dirt on the ground, and the clothes the children wore had been rendered grey by the dirt that was everywhere. Some of the older children were heading their way, and they stepped out of the van to meet them. Some of them looked quite rough, and the leader of them came over and took Xana by the arm.

 

“I’m in charge here, understood? If I tell you to do something, you do it. You answer to me. You figure out a way to get anyone out of here you come to me and tell me, Tech-dini. That’s what they call you isn’t it. Like Houdini but a techno. Remember that. If you ever escape without me, and without my permission, when they catch you and bring you back, you’re dead.” With that, he turned and walked off, his entourage following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from 'Ghost of You' by My Chemical Romance


	3. I'm Only the Monster You Made Me

 

_December 4th 2590_

Mai Watson turned off the teli-com with a quick thought-pulse through her teli-plant in her brain. She sighed slightly with relief. For weeks the hunt had been on for the infamous Tech-dini, as people had nick-named the technopath who had escaped from every camp there was, according to word on the street. The authorities denyed it, saying it was just two camps, but the technopath had still escaped from camp Beta, the second most secure camp in the country. It was a shambles, that security was so lax at Beta that dangerous technopaths could escape and threaten the security and safety of ordinary people who had done nothing wrong.

“John?” she called up the stairs. A small head peered over the banisters,

“Yes Mum?”

“They caught that escapee technopath.”

“That’s good.” The head disappeared. She smiled. John was studying to be a medic, and he was only four. But this was what he really wanted, so, instead of reading digi-stories to him she gave him digi-medi-books to read, even though he could barely understand the bio-sci in them, he read them and memorised them for when he could understand them. And of course, they had impressed on him the dangers and evil of techopaths, as the only thing worse than a technopath son was a technopath sympathiser son. The shame of that would be horrible. Thankfully there was no danger of that. John was a model son, always at his digi-books and digi-lessons, even out of school.

Upstairs John closed the digi-medi-book he had been reading with a wave of his hand in front of the motion sensor. The sensor was primitive technology, but necessary, because implants were not allowed until the age of 18, because the implants could have a negative effect on the growing brain of a child or teenager. Also, if implants were allowed at such a young age a very young child with implants could very easily be mistaken for a technopath. John shuddered at the thought. To be locked up with violent technopaths and not be one was the worst fate his young mind could imagine. Of course, he had only met one technopath, the young Sherlock Holmes, and he hadn’t exactly been a model child, always correcting his teachers, and generally being rude to everyone. Freak, they had called him, and they were more right than they had ever realised. John was glad he’d never tried to make friends with him or even talk to him. Who knows what he might have done to him. All technopaths were violent and it was dangerous to know them or be associated with them. People said to him that if he wanted to be a medic he should make friends with the people that nobody liked much, but the way John saw it, it was safer for him to wait until they were past that awkward time when technopaths were drawn out of the woodwork, so he didn’t get himself hurt by accidently making friends with one. John didn’t understand why more people weren’t worried about accidently associating with technopaths. Most people just made friends with almost anyone, without regard for the potential danger. But that was what would make him such a good medic his mum said, because he had an awareness of danger that others didn’t have. It made him feel very special. He smiled at the thought and opened the digi-medi-book again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'Monster You Made' by Pop Evil  
> Sorry it's so short, I suck at writing normal life


	4. I'm Waking Up to Ash and Dust

Life in the camps was both hard and easy at the same time. On one hand there was no work to do, and no school; since the technopaths would never need to earn a living it was deemed unnecessary to educate them. On the other hand, staying in your block leader’s good books while avoiding the occupants of the other blocks was more difficult than anything a school had to offer. Sherlock and Xana were in block 5, out of 12 blocks. Their leader was the older boy who had accosted them on the first day, and by most accounts he was a fairly relaxed leader. Sherlock dreaded to think what the other leaders were like if that was true. His real name was a great secret, and he was simply known as Leo, or The Lion. All the block leaders were known by the name of the star sign that corresponded to the number of their block, and the people who they lead were named accordingly. Residents of block five were called the Lion Cubs, or jut cubs for short. Toz and Bez were in block 8, led by Scorpio, or the Scorpion, and were known as Stings. The other block leaders, in order were; Aries, or the Ram, with his Sheep, Taurus, or the Bull, with his Horns, Gemini, or the twins, with her Gems, Cancer, or the Crab, with her Pincers, Virgo, or the Maiden, (an exclusively female block), with her Maids, Libra, or the Scales, with her Weights, Sagittarius, or the archer, with her Arrows, Capricorn, or the Goat, with his Kids, Aquarius, or the Water-bearer, with her Buckets and Pisces, or the Fish, with his Scales. Within each block was a distinct hierarchy. At the top was the leader of the block, then just below them were their henchmen, often known as the ‘blockies’. These tended to be the biggest and worst of the block. It was extremely rare for a blockie to be promoted to leader, as they tended to be more muscle than brain. Normally when a leader knew they were due transference they would elect an heir, who they would groom to take over from them, normally from the level of the hierarchy that is equivalent to the blockies, but for more intelligent people, the ‘brainies’. They tended to be in an advisory role to the leader of their block, and they were exempt from the rules that governed the rest of the blocks, and they could go anywhere and speak to anyone. Nobody really trusted them, they were well known as spies for leaders. Everyone else in the blocks were placed into ‘fighter’ and ‘talker’ on their first day, and would rise in their groups in different ways. Fighters would fight each other to gain respect, and hope to be chosen as a blockie one day. Talkers would play chess, or debate, in the hope of being a brainie when they were old enough. Sherlock was decided to be a talker, and Xana was placed with the fighters soon after they arrived in their new block. It didn’t take Sherlock long to gain respect from his fellow talker two year olds, wowing them with his powers of deduction. Unfortunately, being a two year old talker just meant that three year old fighters felt they had the right to use you as a punching bag. Toz and Bez were both sorted into fighters, but Sherlock and Xana were not allowed to talk to them, because they were in a different block. The blocks themselves were in a sort of hierarchy too. Block 5 was at the top, and block led by the Goat was at the bottom of the pile. Everyone used Kids as punching bags, but thankfully being a Cub meant that only other Cubs could beat you up. Sherlock was very glad he wasn’t a Kid. The social order between blocks changed regularly, but Block 5 stayed at the top mostly, as the Lion was a very good fighter as well as being a good Talker. This was unfortunate for the younger children in other blocks, because Block 5 had some of the best and most vicious blockies and fighters. Sherlock discovered early on that the best way to not get beaten up was simply to disappear into the background and not be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'Radioactive' by Imagine Dragons


	5. Everyone Wants to Change the World

_Twelve years later..._

 

John woke and stretched, then sat up, excited. It was his first day of medi-school in a week, the moment he had been waiting for since he was two, when he decided to become a medic. In that time he had learnt a lot, and changed even more with the advent of puberty. A short rebellious streak had given his parents a lot of difficulty, and he was still feeling the aftershocks of that sometimes. One thing that hadn’t changed was his loathing of Technopaths. No longer afraid of them, he wanted them to be destroyed, wiped from the surface of the earth like the dangerous parasites they were. He was a vocal supporter of the AntiTechnopath Society, (the ATS), and today he was attending the meeting where he would become a full member of ATS. He quickly got dressed and headed out to the street to hail a taxi. The journey to the meeting house was short and John was soon walking up the path to the door. He rang the bell and the doorkeeper opened it, greeting him with a warm smile.

“Last day of supporter-hood, eh John?” he asked.

“Yep,” John replied, “I’ll soon be out marching with the crowd, doing the work they should have done years ago.”

“In you come then, the meeting’s about to start.” John walked down the hallway and entered the meeting room, to be greeted by the leader of the meeting, founder of the ATS, and a friend from John’s childhood, Mike Stanford.

“John Watson!” he said, smiling broadly, “Good to see you finally become a member. And going to medi-school so soon. But at least you’ll be a member when you leave us.”

“I’m coming back to visit,” John replied, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Mike laughed, and John took his place with the rest of those waiting to become members at today’s meeting. As the meeting started Mike stood up to give a talk to remind people why they did what they did.

“Members, supporters, welcome. Today we are bringing three young supporters into the circle of members, so I would like to remind you all of our goal and motivations. We are all here, united by the knowledge of the dangers of technopathy. We are here to persuade the government to initiate ‘the Solution’, the final eradication of technopathy. We do this because we know that technopaths are dangerous to society. Already, in the past few years security at camps have grown lax. The infamous technopth known as Tech-dini was captured for the final time fourteen years ago, but since her others have followed that example, and more and more technopaths attempt escape every day. Only a few slip past successfully, but it will not be long before more do, and then they will unite and come for us. I urge you all to raise your banners and your signs, to encourage others to do the same, for the eradication of technopaths. Even technopaths as young as two can be incredibly dangerous. My old friend John Watson will tell you about his personal encounter, when he was barely two years old.” John stood up nervously and licked him lips.

“I forgot the name of the technopath in question, but I remember what happened very clearly. The teacher was teaching us as normal, then he stood up, and shouted ‘Bored!’ loudly. Suddenly all the electrical items in the room exploded into flames, and to this day I am convinced that he was trying to kill us all, simply because he was bored. If that is what one bored two year old can do, what could hundreds of angry adults and children do to us? We could all be in danger.”

“Thank you John,” said Mike, turning he addressed the crowd, “You see now why we have to do what must be done. Technopaths are not people, no matter what anyone tells you, they are merely dangerous animals that must be exterminated, as badgers were to protect against TB. Now, it is time to induct our newest members. John, Sally, and Greg, would you like to stand up. I will say a few words about each inductee before the ceremony, if you don’t mind. John Watson is an old friend of mine, and has been a keen aspiring medic since he was two. Sally Donovan is training to join our fine police service, and Greg Lestrade is a fine detective.” With those words Mike sat down and the ceremony began.

Afterwards Mike came up to push through the hordes of people congratulating the new members and drew John to one side.

“When you’ve finished your training find me, and I’ll get you a good place, in a camp, camp Beta Prime. It’s a good posting, high tech facilities, and you can continue the Lord’s work in a more active way. Think it through, if you’re interested, I’ll be waiting.” He walked off leaving John feeling confused and conflicted. All his life he had wanted to help people by being a medic, but couldn’t he help people by making sure there were fewer technopaths walking the earth? He shook his head to clear it of thoughts and headed home slowly.

A few streets away a very different society was marching down the road. The Humanitarian Society for Aid of Technopaths, or HSAT was having a publicity demonstration for their cause, the release of technopaths and the return of their rights. John rounded a corner deep in thought over Mike’s offer and nearly walked straight into them, barely avoiding a girl carrying a sigh reading ‘DO GOD’S WORK: SAVE PEOPLE’ Many others carried similar signs, saying things like ‘TECHNOPATHS ARE PEOPLE TOO’ and ‘DON’T SIDE WITH HITLER, END THE CAMPS’ John sighed. HSAT was ATS arch enemy, and wherever they marched the violence they claimed to want to stop followed them like iron to an electro-magnet. Already he could see two men wrestling on the ground, a sign abandoned near them. A man and a woman were shouting at each other and it didn’t take long for them to descend into violence too. John quickly turned and hurried away, unwilling to start a fight with HSAT without a few more ATS members at his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'Na na na' by My Chemical Romance


	6. I Got a Bulletproof Heart

“Hey, you!” Sherlock sighed. It was the usual of course. Just another fighter who thought a skinny little talker would be easy prey. He turned around, raising an eyebrow in the universal ‘sure about that?’ gesture. The fighter smirked, completely missing the gesture. “Yeah, you,” he said, “Come here. Gimme that food.” Sherlock looked down at the can of beans he was holding.

 

“No.” The fighter smirked again.

 

“You asked for it mate, so now you’re gonna get it,” he said threateningly slowly. Sherlock just turned and walked slowly off, still holding the beans. The fighter charged at him, and at the last possible moment Sherlock turned and the tin connected with the fighters head, knocking him out cold. Sherlock looked at the beans concernedly, and shook his head at the prone fighter.

 

“Look,” he said, “You’ve dented the tin. Good job I was going to eat it now anyway.” The other people around who had stopped to watch the entertainment of a talker getting beaten up suddenly all realised that they had places to be other than around this skinny talker who just defeated a fighter like it was nothing. Those watching from block five however were pleased. The Lion, a different Leo to the one who had originally been running the block twelve years ago of course, had engineered the whole encounter to test Sherlock’s fighting skills, which had been improving steadily since he had arrived at the camp. His prowess matched fighters of his age, and with his brains he was in strong contention for leader when he was old enough. His deducting skills had similarly grown, and he was often called in by Leo to help discover the perpetrators of any excessive violence to Cubs, especially from blocks lower down the hierarchy than them, which was everyone at the moment.

 

“Hey, Sherlock!” he looked around to see Leo walking over to him.

 

“Yeah?” he asked, bored and wishing people would just leave him alone.

 

“We got something for you to look at. Come on.” Sherlock sighed irritably and followed the Lion across the camp to behind one of the side buildings of block 5. On the floor in front of them was a body, a youngish talker,

 

“Maybe about 7 or 8, female, killed just over three hours ago.” Sherlock rattled off, then got down on his hands and knees by the body to look closer, peering at it through a small piece of curved glass that acted as a magnifying glass.

 

“Three hours ago?” asked one the fighters who had been guarding the body.

 

“Obviously,” replied Sherlock, “The ground under the body is dry, but the ground around it is still wet from the rain earlier. Clearly it was here before it started raining, and the rain started about three hours ago. She was killed over food, by a group of Stings, maybe three or four of them.”

 

“Stings?”

 

“Yes. People from block 8.”

 

“I know that,” said the fighter, “I’m not stupid. But how can you tell it was Stings?”

 

“Look at the mouth. She was killed with a sharp stick driven up through the roof of the mouth into the brain. That’s a Sting trademark. It’s Stings you’re looking for if its revenge you want. The Scorpion if you just want to whine at each other. Goodbye.”

 

“Wait,” Leo called after him, “Aren’t you going to help us catch whoever it was?”

 

“Boring!” Sherlock threw over his shoulder, and vanished around the corner, leaving the Lion standing by a body as the rain started to fall again.

 

 

Back inside, safe from the rain Sherlock prized open the dented can, grimacing at the contents. The beans had clearly been damaged before he got to them, and they had gone bad. More and more food that found its way into the camps was inedible, those who tried falling ill, and even dying, as there were no medics who cared about the technopaths that they were there to help. Nobody who went to see the medics returned and lived long. Sherlock threw the can onto the pile of inedible food that was growing in the centre of the camp, within throwing distance of most block entrances. It stank, but there was nowhere else to put all the food. The guards didn’t care, and there were no bins around, because there was no one to empty them. It hadn’t been so bad before all the food started arriving dodgy, back when everyone could and did eat everything they could get their hands on, but now almost all the food was going to waste, people were going hungry, and the rubbish piles sat there stinking and rotting. Just another sign that the people on the outside had stopped caring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'Bulletproof Heart' by My Chemical Romance


	7. I'm Who I Gotta Be

 

_Two years later_

John walked up to the door of the meeting house. He had been thinking about Mike’s offer for two years, and now he knew what he wanted.

“Mike?” he called.

“John? It’s you!” Mike appeared in a doorway with a smile.

“I was thinking about your offer, about getting me a job at Beta Prime, and if it still stands I’d like to accept.”

“Wonderful! Of course it still stands. You can do the Lords work there alright, helping this world to rid itself of a disease. I’ll sort that out for you this afternoon and you should get your posting sometime tomorrow, on your digi-com.”

“That’s brilliant, thank you Mike.”

“Anything for an old friend like you John, anything for you.” John smiled and left, with a lighter heart at the knowledge of a secure job coming his way, jobs which were getting harder to get due to the rise in digi-medi-bots that were very popular, mainly because they didn’t need paying or feeding.

 

The next afternoon John did indeed get a posting to camp Beta Prime on his digi-com, which he eagerly accepted, starting on Monday.

 

The van rattled and shook as it travelled across the rough, lonely roads towards the second most secure adult technopath camp, camp Beta Prime. John was sat in the front next to the driver, two technopaths in the back being transferred from camp Beta Minor. John had got a glimpse of the technopaths as they were loaded in, and one of them had sparked his interest, although he didn’t dare mention it to the driver. The technopath that had caught his interest was tall and pale, with curly black hair and intelligent eyes that didn’t seem to miss anything. Even just briefly being examined by that gaze had put John on edge and he didn’t look forward to ever being under it again. It was a gaze that stripped you of every secret you held and unlocked you entire past with just a glance. John shivered thinking about it and the driver looked at him sympathetically.

“Weird eyes they got ain’t they. Kinda unsettling,” the thick accent cut through the silence like a knife, and John nodded. “Gives me the willies,” the driver continued.

“Are they all like that boy?” John asked, curious.

“Not all that bad, but he’s a special case I’ve heard, by the grapevine like, know stuff he shouldn’t see, but no one can, like, figure out how he does it like. It’s creepy. Most of ‘em ain’t that weird, but they ain’t normal. They ain’t people; they’re like animals, violent like. Tell ya what, I agree with that ATS, they should’a all been put down like, should’a been killed like the animals they are. We’re paying good money to keep ‘em alive and what do we get back outa ‘em eh? They ain’t doing nothing ‘xept killin’ each other and eatin’ our money in those camps. I say kill ‘em all and be rid o’ them. You’ll see when we arrive, they got nothing better to do than gawp at us like a herd o’ cows.” The driver lapsed into silence again and soon the gates of camp Beta Prime appeared in front of them. The outer gate opened with a creak and as they drove forwards into the space between fences technopaths gathered inside to watch them. Guards soon arrived to hold back the crowd and as the inner gates rolled open they just stood silently watching. No sound graced the camp except the creak of the gates and the noise of the van engine. They rolled to a stop and the driver motioned for John to get out. He was surrounded by a group of guards who walked him through the crowd with guns drawn and pointed at the technopaths. One stepped forwards and spat at John and melted back into the crowd before the guards could react but mostly they just watched, hostility on their faces. Soon they were through the crowd and John was lead into a building on the edge of the camp where he was greeted by a young woman.

“Molly Hooper,” she said, offering a hand, “You must be Dr John Watson.”

“Yes, I am,” he replied, accepting the handshake.

 

Sherlock was cross and bored. He was cross because he’d been dragged, literally, away from a fascinating case, and bored because he’d been stuck in the van for nearly two hours, they’d arrived at Beta Prime and they still wouldn’t just _let him out_. Finally they opened the door and he strode out, turning up the collar on the coat he’d managed to get as payment for solving a case back at Beta Minor. He was greeted by a crowd of technopaths who were all watching him curiously. He stood and waited for a leader to make an appearance. In a place like this first impressions were vital and Sherlock was determined to make a good one and not have to work his way up from the very bottom again. Sure enough a man stepped forwards from the pack, _about 35, leader, has been leader for 2-3 years, has been in a fight in the last week, not a bully, intelligent._

“Name?” the leader asked.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he replied.

“Lestrade,” he said, “My word is law around here. Break that law, and you will regret it. Help us keep the law and you will be rewarded. Xana here tells me you’re good at finding criminals,” he said, gesturing behind him to Xana, who Sherlock hadn’t seen in years, and was surprised that she had remembered him, “It will be worth your while to help us. Anyone else in that van with you?”

“My name's Anderson,” came the voice of Sherlock’s travelling companion, who had taken an immediate dislike to Sherlock, “and you don’t want to work with him. He’s a freak.”

“We’re all freaks of nature here, being different doesn’t make us less than humans, we’re still people. Follow me, I’ll show you to your bunks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'Bulletproof Heart' by My Chemical Romance


	8. Hate is a Poison...

“There’s not a lot to be done around here,” Molly told John, “Most technopaths don’t dare come, they rarely leave alive in most camps. The ATS are everywhere.”

“Where do you stand on that subject?” John asked, wary.

“I’m not ATS but I’m not HSAT either. I don’t trust technopaths at all, but who does? I take a fairly neutral stance, and a few technopaths less, I could overlook.” John nodded, relieved that he would still be able to carry out his duty without interference. He noticed Molly didn’t ask about him. Nobody became a camp medic at his age unless they had another agenda, and few HSAT people did anything more than talk and stage protests.

“Is there anything else I need to know?” he asked, tired after the long journey and wanting to unpack his things and rest.

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied, “Go and unpack, I’ll see you tomorrow for work, if there’s anything that needs doing.”

 

There was a meeting happening in the blocks. Sherlock and Xana were stood just behind Lestrade who was sat at a table in the dining room in the main building of the camp. There were three representatives of each block here, and Lestrade seemed to be in charge of the whole lot of them. Currently Lestrade was attempting to get some order.

“Shut up!” he was shouting, “Silence!” Slowly everyone ceased their conversations and looked at him. “We are here to decide what we are going to do with the new medic,” he explained, “I think it is important that we do something, either to scare him off or to make sure he knows the consequences of harming any of us. I want you all to decide in your block groups now what you think should be done, you should have already discussed this with your block to get an idea how they feel. In ten minutes each block group will have a chance to speak, then we will take a vote on what to do. Please start your discussions.” Lestrade turned to Sherlock and Xana.

“We’ll need to get him away from the medic building or the other staff might hear something,” Sherlock said before Lestrade could even open his mouth to suggest anything.

“We already have a working way of doing that,” Xana told him.

“You do this a lot?”

“We’ve done it enough. Lestrade appears to have a knack for knowing weak spots and other things,” Xana said pointedly, raising an eyebrow at Lestrade.

“I have my methods,” said Lestrade, looking slightly uncomfortable, “What we need are ideas on how to scare him, to threaten him, stop him hurting us.”

“What we did last time work pretty well,” Xana suggested, “It would probably work again.”

“What did you do last time?” Sherlock asked.

“Don’t worry about that, just use that brain to think of ideas.”

“Genital removal? Or the threat of genital removal. That’s quite effective,” Sherlock suggested.

“Could work,” Xana agreed, “Even though there’s nobody for him to sleep with guys still like to have a tug occasionally, sometimes quite often, depending on the guy, but one as young as him probably does it most days, and guys are very precious about their dicks.” Lestrade chuckled slightly, acknowledging the truth of her observation.

“How would we do it though?” Sherlock pointed out, “Surely they don’t let us have anything sharp enough to sever genitals?”

“That’s not a problem, don’t worry, I can get that,” Lestrade assured him. Sherlock raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised that Lestrade had access to such things but he let it slide, knowing that he could easily work out where it was from when the promised knife appeared. Lestrade seemed to relax when he said nothing and turned back to the rest of the meeting, most of whom were just finishing off their conversations.

“Right then, we’ll go around in blocks, starting at block 1, moving around to 12. Hear each other out, no arguing, and at the end we can have a vote to decide what to do. Remember this is just what to do to the medic, not how to get to him, that’s all worked out, same as last time. Fire away block 1.”

“We suggested cutting off his dick, or threatening to cut off his dick, eye gouging, or finger breaking.”

“Second the dick cutting, or ball cutting, maybe some deep cuts on his arms or back that’ll scar.”

“Cut his throat so he can’t talk ever.” The suggestion continued in this vein, a few people calling for the medic to be killed, some for permanent maiming, most just for temporary injuries and a bit of scarring. After every block had spoken Lestrade called for a vote.

“Murder is off the table I’m afraid, it’s too obvious and hard to hide, someone would notice. Same for obvious permanent injuries like eye gouging, to noticeable. Hands up for threatening to cut off his dick or balls though?” Almost every hand went up, a few people calling out for harsher, to do it and not mess around with threats.

“Ok, that’s on the list, hands up for cuts to arms and legs, not deep enough to scar?” Most hands.

“Cuts that’ll scar?” A few hands.

“Threats of murder to keep him quiet?” Slightly more than half of the block agreed. “Ok then, that’s agreed. Now, this is the plan. I want a group of people from blocks 1, 2 and 3 to fake a fight by the fence behind blocks 2 and 3. That will draw the guards’ attention. I need as many people around there as possible fighting and watching. Most of blocks 1-3 if possible. Around the rest of camp I need small groups of threes and fours just wandering around, as aimlessly and harmlessly as possible. They will stop guards getting suspicious at the attack group, which will be me, Xana and Sally. Once we have the medic safely in block 7 the signal, a whistle, will be sent and the fight can break up and drift away. Give it ten minutes for the guards to relax and then you can come to block 7, in small groups, with staggered arrivals just in case, and we can begin. Any questions?” There was silence. “You can all go then and tell the plan to your blocks. Start the fight when the sun is completely set and I want the other groups wandering before then, from when the sun just starts to touch the horizon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'Coins in a Fountain' by Passenger, just got his album, Whispers, and I'm loving it!


	9. ... Love is a Remedy

The sun sank slowly out of sight beneath the horizon and moments later there came the sound of shouting and yelling from behind block 2. Lestrade smiled.

“We are go, I repeat, we are go.” Sherlock watched Lestrade, Xana and Sally wander slowly out of block 7 and head towards the medic block, chatting and laughing as they went, soon looking like nothing more than another group of technopaths out for an evening stroll in the twilight, ignoring the fight which could be faintly heard as the wind carried the sound towards them from across the camp. Sherlock had opted to wait inside block 7 and help prepare for the arrival of the medic, getting ropes ready to tie him with and deciding the best knots to use to hold a struggling 18 year old who was probably quite strong.

It was nearly half an hour later when Lestrade hurried into the block followed closely by Sally and Xana carrying the unconscious medic. Sherlock felt something stir inside him at the sight which confused him, not knowing what it was, but he put it down as revulsion or hate for a man who would kill him for what he was with no more regret than he might get from killing an irritating mosquito. They quickly tied him to the wall in a tight spread eagle so he didn’t have any opportunity to get leverage to pull himself free and make a break for it, then they sat back to wait for everyone else to come and watch, and for him to come around. It didn’t take long for the rest of the technopaths to finish trickling in, all of them were eager to see the medic taken down a peg or two and the medic was quickly woken up with a bucket of water to the face. He started to struggle but Lestrade pulled out a medical scalpel, presumably lifted at the same time as the caught the medic. He gently ran it down the medic’s cheek to test the sharpness of it and the medic froze as blood ran from the cut down his face, dripping off his chin onto the floor.

“What do you want?” he whispered, his voice catching in his throat, shaking with fear.

“What do we want? Good question. A lot of people in here want you and your kind, your AntiTechnopath Society, dead. We can’t do that from in here though. Some of us just want you dead. But what we want, that you can give us, is our lives. So here’s the deal; you don’t kill us, and you get to keep your balls, and you life. For every one of us that dies at your hands we will chop off something new. First you balls, then your dick, then one of your eyes, then the other, you get the picture. Finally, we’ll take your life.”

“You won’t get away with this,” the medic said, but he lacked conviction.

“Well, I guess you could tell someone, but it would be a shame if we had to hurt you because of it. Tell anyone and we will punish you. Step out of line at all and you will regret it. We will know, trust me. We always know. I’d tell you to ask the last medic but he’s not in any state to tell you.” Sherlock looked away, something about seeing the medic bleeding and scared unsettling him, despite all the murders and bodies he’d seen. Maybe it was Lestrade’s casual threats and violence. He didn’t know but he needed some fresh air. He pushed his way out of the doors and immediately felt better. He took some deep breaths to calm himself, and jumped when Xana spoke from behind him,

“Thought you were used to stuff like that?”

“I am, I don’t know what the problem is. I’ve been seeing corpses and blood every day since I was a kid, I’ve seen people hacked to pieces, I saw once someone was half eaten by their murderer when food got really scarce, I’ve seen everything, and suddenly I can’t handle a tiny bit of blood,” he was shouting now, angry at himself and the world. He whirled around to Xana, “THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!” he shouted, and ran off into the night, desperate to escape this new demon in his soul, this medic who inspired both hate and something far more terrifying, something dangerous and forbidden, emotions he had denied himself for years, ever since he had realised, aged two, how dangerous they were in a camp as violent as Beta Minor.

It was early morning when he crept back into block 7 to see if the medic was still there. He was, looking a bit bruise and tired, but still alive and not badly hurt. Sherlock approached him warily.

“What’s your name?” the medic asked him, making him jump. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” he replied, not sure why he used his surname. Surnames weren’t used much in camps, they were just another tie to a family that had abandoned you, or in a lot of cases had voluntarily given you up to the techno-pols to be shoved into a camp.

“John Watson,” the medic replied, “I’d say nice to meet you, but this isn’t really a nice way to meet someone,” he shook his head to himself, “I can’t believe that I’m having a conversation with a technopath, after being attacked and threatened by an entire camp of them. It’s utterly ridiculous.” Sherlock just looked at him, the feeling he’d had before rising in him, and this time he knew it wasn’t hate, but he refused to acknowledge what he knew it was, that sort of thing happened to other people, not him, he was above all that nonsense.

John was feeling just as confused. Here was the enemy, a hated technopath, someone who had tied him up and threatened his life, and he was getting feelings for him. He wasn’t even gay, he’d had loads of girlfriends in his life, he couldn’t be gay, especially for a technopath. It had to be revulsion, yes that was it, he was feeling repulsed by the technopath, Sherlock, it, he, was too close to him, not close enough, his mind was whispering to him, contradicting him as he desperately tried to overrule his heart and body with everything he’d been taught about technopaths, all of which suddenly seemed insignificant. No, he couldn’t feel like this, it was stupid and dangerous and wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is the second half of the line from last chapter, thought it was appropriate


	10. You Fool, You're Falling in Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is when s**t starts to go down. Also, last pre-written chapter, but you might get another today if you're lucky, I'm just about to start writing the next one. So, here, have some angst >:-)

John was soon released with a stern reminder in no uncertain terms what would happen if he so much as breathed a word to anyone about what had happened there. He quickly hurried back to the medic block, not looking back, just shutting himself in there away from the technopaths. But when he sat down on his bed and calmed his racing mind he was surprised by what he found. He understood why they had done what they did. He was sympathising with technopaths. A face flashed through his head, breaking his train of thought but in his bewilderment it took him a moment to recognise it as the technopath he had talked to earlier, Sherlock Holmes. When he realised he jumped to his feet, cursing his stupid mind. Unlike Sherlock he acknowledged what the feeling was even though he didn’t like it. Why did he have to fall for a technopath of all people? Why couldn’t he have just found a nice girl and settled down with her and had a family, maybe a cat, and a nice life. He shook himself.

“Stop rambling,” he growled, “And don’t start talking to yourself either you idiot.” He sat back down on the bed and just thought for a while.

Nearly two hour later he knew what he would have to do. He had to move on, forget about Sherlock. Humans fall for more than one person in their lifetime, everyone knew that. Soon these feelings would fade and he would find a girl, or a guy he supposed since he apparently wasn’t straight after all.

 

Back in block 7 Sherlock was much less confused. He had been suppressing emotion since he was 2 and it was no hardship for him to bury these unwanted feelings as deep as any other he’d had in his life.

“Feeling better?” Xana asked quietly on her way past.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, not bothering to open his eyes as he carried on refreshing his mind palace. It wasn’t until he finished that he realised that he’d created a room unconsciously with all the information he had about John in it. He frowned slightly and deleted it, just to have it pop back up again after a moment. He sighed slightly and went in to look round it before he figured out how to properly delete it. When he opened the door he nearly gasped out loud. Inside was hundreds of pictures of John, showing so many deductions about him that Sherlock hadn’t even realised he’d made. He ran from the room and slammed the door behind him, deeply disturbed by this crack in his defences, this intrusion into his life that could destroy everything he had spent the last 16 years building. Quickly he rattled off deductions about everyone around him, terrified that this medic, this ATS supporter might have somehow broken the ability that was his life, his reason for living, his only sort of status in the camps which were so dangerous for those without some sort of status. When he found that his abilities were unimpaired he almost cried with relief, but still the fear lingered. He had some time left, but how much? How long before this medic worming his way in and destroyed everything? He had to get him out of his head. He dived back into his mind palace and tried everything, every trick he knew, to destroy that room but his treacherous head refused to obey him, stubbornly bringing the room back every time he thought he had destroyed it. He sat there for nearly six hours, desperately trying to get rid of this medic, John, to wipe him from his life like he’d wiped his parents after they let the techno-pols take him. By the end his hands were shaking with effort and excess emotion and he was even paler than normal. He would have stayed there all day but Lestrade noticed him.

“Sherlock,” he said, getting in front of him and catching his wildly swinging hands, “Sherlock.” Sherlock ignored him, too deep in his mind to hear him.

“Sherlock! Can you hear me?” He pulled his hands free but didn’t reply. Lestrade sighed and grabbed his hands again, holding them tightly in one hand and slapping Sherlock hard with his other. It worked, briefly. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him for a moment, then snapped,

“Go away,” at him before lapsing back into his mind palace.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade said quickly before he could get too deep again, “Sherlock you’ve been sitting here for hours, you need to eat, you need to drink and you need to sleep.”

“Go away,” Sherlock said again, not opening his eyes.

“No. Sherlock,” Lestrade began, but stopped when Sherlock collapsed, exhausted from the emotions running through it that he was so unused to and the stress he’d put himself under trying to suppress them. Lestrade picked him up, aided by Xana and together they carried him to his bed and left him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from 'Falling in Love' by Wrongchilde


	11. Falling In Love Will Kill You

Xana was worried about Sherlock. Ever since he had first gone into himself and collapsed he had barely eaten, barely spoken, barely slept. The only food he ate was forced into him, literally forced, and they rarely managed that. He was prone to extreme inactivity and extreme activity, oscillating wildly from one to the other every few days. Even when they managed to feed him he would refuse to sleep until he got to the stage where he would collapse again and they would have to try and nurse him back to health again. Everyone was sick of it and no one knew what to do. Eventually Lestrade snapped.

“We’re taking him to the medic. This all started around that time, it must have something to do with it.” Xana looked at him sharply.

“You really trust a medic, especially an ATS member?”

“No but we have to try something. The way he’s going he’s going to kill himself soon anyway, through neglect if he doesn’t decide to slit his wrists. He’s a walking time bomb, and I’m sure the medic has something to do with it.” Xana sighed but nodded. She had had the same thoughts; she just hadn’t wanted to be the first to say it. Persuading Sherlock was a different problem however.

“No,” he said again, “There’s nothing wrong with me, I don’t need to see a medic.”

“What is your problem with seeing the medic?” Xana demanded.

“I don’t want to be killed by an ATS member. I’m not ill. I don’t like medics. I’m just a stubborn idiot. Take your pick of those; they’re probably all plausible from inside your tiny little brains.”

“Well, tough. We’re taking you whether you like it or not.” They had timed it well. Sherlock was on his fourth day without sleep and his third without food. He was far too weak to stop Lestrade and Xana literally dragging from the block, though not from lack of trying. When they got outside Lestrade stopped.

“Are you going to walk or do we have to drag you all the way there?” Sherlock sighed but stood up and when they set off again he walked between them, though they didn’t trust him enough to let go of his arms.

 

John hadn’t been very pleased with the success of his plan to forget about the technopath, (which mainly involved hitting on Molly and getting rejected) even before the leader of the technopaths turned up with a girl who looked like she wanted to stab him, and probably could, and _him_. The one person in the whole damn camp he really didn’t want to see at that point. Unfortunately he knew that if he wanted to keep himself intact then he really needed to do what they wanted. Whatever that was.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell us that?” asked the girl rudely, “You being the medic and everything.” The leader shot her a look that clearly said, _not now._

“Nothing,” _he_ said, “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Apart from refusing to eat or sleep and barely drinking enough to live,” the leader snapped at him.

“I’m a medic not a shrink,” John said, glad to have an excuse to get rid of them.

“This all started just after you were our guest for the night,” the leader insisted, “It’s clearly got something to do with you.” _He_ scowled.

“I really can’t help you,” John said again, desperate to get rid of them and their accusations, “Are you suggesting I did something while tied up very securely?”

“Well, I think you too should have a private chat together,” said the girl suddenly and got up to leave, the leader following her, pushing _him_ back to stop him escaping and closing the door behind him, leaving John alone with _him._ _He_ looked at John, and something seemed to prompt him to speak.

“This is why I don’t like people. So stupid, never see the obvious. I bet you’re like that too, can’t see what’s under your nose.” John found himself replying,

“So teach me.”

“Why would I do that for a member of ATS?” And to that John had no reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from 'Falling in Love' by Wrongchilde
> 
> Hehehe, and soon, the gay will come, I promise


	12. Note

Ok, basically I didn't make a plan for this and now that's come back to bite me so I'm gonna go away for a while, make a plan, then majorly edit what I've got and start writing again. This will probably take a while but I will return one day. This is one of my fave ideas so I won't abandon it, promise.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from 'Monster You Made' by Pop Evil, all titles will be song lyrics


End file.
